Suddenly a Daddy

Jesse Campbell’s determined to forget his past. He’s moving to a dude ranch in Arizona to start getting his act together. Parenthood isn’t part of the picture—until Jesse meets the son he didn’t know he had. Now Jesse has some new goals: learning to be a good father—and a good man. The kind of man Eva Hubrecht, his boss’s daughter, can trust. He knows Eva isn’t happy about Jesse and Timmy coming to the Lost Dutchman Ranch, but the little boy soon starts to win her heart. Jesse can only hope that with time and patience, this rancher’s daughter will find room in her life for him, too.

The Rancher’s Daughters: Sisters find hope, love and redemption in the Arizona desert.

“You’ve never seen a woman weaving?” Eva asked.

Jesse shook his head. “This is what you do in your spare time?”

“Every moment I can find.”

In his world, his old world, the women he’d hung around used their spare time to party. Suddenly, something he’d not felt in a long time rose up in him, a longing for the type of life he’d only seen on the Hallmark Channel.

Not his world.

To keep from looking at Eva, he walked over to the bookshelves and browsed the titles.

“You know, you might want to talk to my sister Elise about Timmy. She’s a social worker over near Two Mules, Arizona.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s small, smaller than Apache Creek. It’s just a community of people trying to survive, and, according to my sister, most of them messing up.”

“Messing up,” he echoed. “Is that why I need to talk to her?”

Eva looked at him, her cheeks coloring.

“No, of course not. Elise deals with a lot of little kids who’ve had tough times. School starts next month. We need to find out if he can talk.”

Jesse noticed two things then. One, though Timmy was asleep under the table again, he wasn’t sucking his thumb. Two, Eva had said we.

We?

PAMELA TRACY is an award-winning author who lives with her husband (…the inspiration for most of her heroes) and son (…the interference for most of her writing time). Since 1999, she has published more than twenty-five books and sold more than a million copies. She’s a past RITA® Award finalist and past winner of the Christian Fiction Writers’ book of the year award.

Finally a Hero

Pamela Tracy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation;

the old has gone, the new has come.

—2 Corinthians 5:17

To those who have learned to rise above

their circumstances, forge a new path,

and make a difference to the next generation.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The only thing Jesse Campbell wanted, as he stepped out of the enclosure and through the back gate of Florence State Prison, was to leave the premises, to watch the prison disappear from view, and to enjoy the sweet smell of freedom.

Forever.

Reality, however, always made its presence known.

“See you soon,” said the prison guard escorting him. Five years in Florence State Prison had taught Jesse quite a bit about the system, especially when it came to the guards who played a game called “How Long Before This One Returns.”

Jesse looked the man straight in the eye, something not done on the inside, and shook his head. “Not a chance.”

Perspiration, tasting faintly of salt, beaded on Jesse’s upper lip. The air crackled with the dryness that only a 110-degree July Arizona afternoon could provide. And as for the exhilaration that came with freedom, it disappeared before it got a toehold when Jesse looked down the walkway to the parking lot. Mike Hamm, the prison minister who’d taken Jesse under his wing, had volunteered to pick Jesse up and deliver him to his new home and job. But, two days ago, Mike’s first daughter had been born a month prematurely, and he was needed elsewhere.

“No problem,” Jesse had said. The prison van would take him to the bus station. The bus would drop him off in the small town of Apache Creek where he had a job lined up.

But instead of the prison van, he saw his mother standing by a broken-down, faded blue Chevy Cavalier.

He froze, unsure whether to move forward or turn back, and more than annoyed that five years in prison had taught him to wait and let someone tell him what to do.

Susan Campbell’s dark hair hung past her shoulders, still long and thick. Today she wore a billowy top and tight shorts. She’d always dressed as if she were sixteen and looked as though she needed a good meal. He’d have recognized her anywhere even though he’d not seen her in seven years, two months and six days.

In prison, keeping track of dates was a favorite pastime.

Two days ago, he’d received an opened envelope with a note from his mother, their first contact in five years, two months and four days. The staff member who’d handed Jesse the envelope had raised an eyebrow while passing it over.

This note from his mother wasn’t censored. Words on plain white paper proclaimed, “I’ll be in touch after you get out. Got a surprise for you. S.”

This was the surprise? Her coming to pick him up?

Yeah, right. She’d never been the kind of mother who understood that surprises were supposed to be good, fun, memorable. Her idea of a surprise during his early childhood had been dropping him off for an extended stay at some relative’s house so she could run off and have fun with her newest boyfriend.

Back then, like the guard, she’d often said, “See you soon,” and it had been Jesse playing the guessing game: how long before Mom comes back?

If ever.

The guard at Jesse’s left tensed. “I thought you’d arranged for the van?”

“I did, but it’s okay.” The old Jesse would have said a few choice words to dear old Mom and walked away. He’d have boarded the van without giving her a chance to say a word to him. Susan had never given much of anything to him. But he wasn’t the old Jesse, the angry young man who’d made a bad choice and paid the price. He was forgiven, made anew, and had the scripture from Second Corinthians to prove it: “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come.”

One of his goals as this new person was to tie up the loose ends of his life and forgive, if he could, this woman who looked older, harder, yet the same.

Susan pushed off from the car and walked toward them, stopping a few feet away when the guard held up his hand. Now Jesse could see strands of gray in her hair. “Well, you just going to stand there?” she asked.

He gripped his duffel bag more tightly. Everything he owned was inside. The bag wasn’t heavy.

“You don’t sound too sure,” the guard said. “Is she on the list?”

“She’s my mother. And, I’m not sure of anything,” Jesse continued, as together they walked to meet her, “except that I don’t ever want to come back to this place.”

Susan hadn’t moved from where she stood, but she agreed, “I’m glad to hear that. Prison’s no fun.”

The guard took her name, motioned her closer so he could look at her driver’s license, and radioed the information in. Surprise, surprise, she was on a list Jesse didn’t know existed, and yes, she could pick him up.

“Get in,” she instructed him.

Every instinct warned him: Don’t do it! Run. Take the prison van. But he’d not seen her for over seven years. Some stupid part of him still hoped she had changed. And even if she hadn’t, he had. He was through running from his problems. From now on, he’d face them directly. He slowly followed her to the two-door car and settled his body in the passenger seat with his mostly empty duffel bag on the floorboard under his feet.

The Chevy looked like she’d been living in it with suitcases, taped boxes, dirty laundry and fast-food wrappers scattered throughout.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked, starting the engine and waving at the guard, who didn’t wave back.

“Apache Creek. You need to—”

“I know where it is and how to get there.”

His mother drove the way she always had, speeding toward her destination—sure that whatever was ahead improved on what she’d left behind. He fastened his seat belt and rolled the window down, not even bothering to ask about air conditioning.

Silence, an intangible accusation, accompanied them for a good five miles. Finally, Jesse couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m surprised you knew I was in, much less when I was getting out.”

She smiled, a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I didn’t, not until last week. That’s when I wrote you the letter.”

He didn’t bother to tell her that thirteen words didn’t constitute a letter. Half afraid to hear the answer, he asked, “What happened last week?”

Instead of answering, she muttered, “I hate confinement.”

Jesse knew of only two times his mother had been a guest of the system. Both times he’d wound up a ward of the state.

Could he forgive her for that, and for everything else? He knew the answer should be yes...and yet he couldn’t decide, not today when he had fifty bucks tucked in his sock, just the most rudimentary belongings in his duffel and the phone number of a stranger offering a job in his pocket. He was supposed to call the man at two o’clock.

He couldn’t afford to blow this opportunity. If Susan ruined it for him, as she’d ruined so many things in the past, then that would be a real challenge even for a Christian to forgive.

As they sped down the highway, he took note of his surroundings. It had been, after all, over five years since his view wasn’t obstructed by a chain-link fence. The scenery wasn’t much to brag about. To his right was a giant parking area waiting for winter when a flock of snowbirds in RVs would descend. To the left was the empty shell used by the Renaissance fair in the winter. Neither landmark welcomed him to sweet freedom.

Both were better than prison.

“What happened last week?” he finally asked again. “Does it have to do with the surprise you wrote about?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she nodded toward an interstate sign announcing Apache Creek Next Exit and left the highway. As she slowed the car, she looked in the rearview mirror, at the suitcases, boxes and clothes scattered in the back. He’d seen that expression on her face many a time. She felt trapped, like life had passed her by and somehow she’d missed out on what she deserved.

“I had a ride,” he said. “You didn’t need to pick me up.”

“Yes, I did.” She drove down the main drag, slowing when she passed a fast-food restaurant, then a bar and grill, before finally turning into the parking lot of a rustic café. “You hungry?”

He doubted he could swallow a bite. For the past hour, he’d been trapped in a car with the mother he needed to forgive. The whole hour had felt eerily like still being in jail: trapped, at someone else’s mercy.

If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come.

He’d eat with her, forgive her and walk away knowing he’d done the right thing. “I’m a bit hungry.”

She parked close to the front door. Jesse grabbed his duffel and exited the car. He had the address for his new job in his pocket; he’d get directions and walk from here. He didn’t care how hot it was. Walking would still be better than getting a ride from Susan, letting her know where to find him if she wanted to drag him into her troubles again. He stepped back, watching his toes, as a big blue pickup truck pulled in next to them. A curvy blonde, playing country music loud enough for him to sing along, turned off the engine, opened her door and climbed down.

She smiled, the half-shy expression of someone who knew how to be polite. Then she hurried around them and toward the front door of the Miner’s Lamp Café.

His mother hesitated for the first time, acting almost insecure. “I need to introduce you to someone.” He looked at the restaurant, noticing the blonde still watching him. His mother, however, wasn’t looking at the woman. His mother’s gaze centered on one spot in the cluttered backseat, and Jesse leaned in to see what had her so distracted.

What Jesse had mistaken for dirty laundry was anything but. Now he saw the end of one bare foot sticking out from old jeans too big for the boy’s small frame. Then came a dirty T-shirt advertising a rock group no child that age should know about.

“Timmy, wake up!”

A small head rose with dark-brown hair—the same color as Jesse’s—badly in need of a wash. The boy’s thumb was in his mouth. Sweat trickled down his cheek, looking like a teardrop.

Suddenly Jesse couldn’t swallow. There was a huge lump in his throat, and it hurt.

This was him twenty-odd years ago, maybe five years old. Had his mother—?

“Meet your son,” his mother said.

* * *

Eva Hubrecht tried not to listen, tried to hurry into the restaurant without disturbing the man and woman in the blue car. They were obviously in crisis, and with everything that was going on in her own life, she couldn’t handle one more.

Turning the corner, she overheard the woman say, “Really, this is your son. His name is Timmy.”

Eva didn’t stop to hear what the man said next. It would keep her awake at night. Make her think that losing next week’s wedding party, accounting for half the ranch’s July reservations, wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to someone after all.

The wedding had been called off entirely, and because the couple had canceled more than forty-eight hours in advance, Eva now had six empty rooms, three empty suites, two empty cabins and not even a hefty cancellation fee to make up for the lost revenue.

It was a seven-thousand-dollar loss, during the summer, when they could least afford it.

She allowed the restaurant door to slam behind her, didn’t wait for the hostess, and instead headed for her favorite booth. Her ultimate goal had been to settle into a booth, bemoan her bad luck to the waitress, her best friend Jane de la Rosa, and maybe lose herself in a paperback.

Now she felt even more unsettled, questioned just how bad her luck was and doubted she’d be able to read past a paragraph.

What had she just witnessed? Possibly a family more dysfunctional than hers?

“Hey, girlfriend.” Jane set an iced tea in front of Eva. “Tell me, did you do it?”

Eva knew exactly what Jane was talking about. “No. I made it all the way to the stable, walked to Snow White’s stall and actually aimed my hand for her nose.”

“Then?”

“Then, Pistol let out a loud snort and did a dance in the next stall.” Finally Eva admitted, “I ran.”

“Anyone see?”

“I’m pretty sure Harold was in the tack room. But he didn’t look out, laugh or say anything. Last week he offered to help me on Snow White’s back and walk me around the arena. But I don’t want to feel like I’m eight years old, needing someone to hold my hand before I can deal with a horse. And I don’t want to fail in front of anyone, especially not my dad.”

“Nothing wrong with being eight years old,” Jane said. “Sometimes you need to start where you left off. And the only failure is not trying.”

Then, without writing a single word on her order pad, Jane stuck it in her apron pocket and said, “I already told the kitchen you were here. They started your meal. So, you look to be in a mood. Something else happening at home?”

“No, something happening in your parking lot. Just a strange family...” Eva let her words taper off. It really wasn’t any of her business. “...Having some, er, difficulties.”

“I’m sorry I had to cancel our movie tonight,” Jane said, not even blinking at the thought of a strange family outside. Eva figured she probably saw plenty of odd people passing through town. The Miner’s Lamp Café was one of the few sit-down restaurants between Phoenix and Florence.

“I need the extra shift money,” Jane continued. “Did you ask someone else to go with you?”

Eva shook her head.

“You know, Sam Miller would love to go to the movies with you,” Jane said. “If you go with him, my mother would stop nudging me in his direction.”

That both Eva and Jane were single put them at the top of Jane’s mom’s to-do list. Sam was the only single guy at their church who fit Patti de la Rosa’s fit-for-my-daughter criteria list: age-appropriate, employed and Christian. That he was also a high school friend and a cop worked in his favor.

Jane’s mother was a full-time employee on the Lost Dutchman Ranch and had been offering Eva’s dad parenting advice since Eva was in grade school, thus her name on a wish list. Patti claimed that neither of the girls got out enough and seemed to see it as her job to fix that.

“No, not interested,” Eva said. “Dad’s got a new ranch hand coming in today, and I want to be there. Something’s going on, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dad’s being secretive, more so than usual. Makes me worry. Last time we brought in a new hire this quickly, it was Mitch.”

Jane made a face. “I remember. Last summer he was the one who wanted to sleep until noon every day and then needed two hours before he was ready to work. You hired him back, right?”

“Dad did. And the time before that it was some writer who wanted to work on the ranch as research for his book. We actually needed someone in that position. He quit the second day, muttering about dirty fingernails and finding a scorpion in his boot.”

“I hate when my fingernails get dirty,” Jane joked.

“Yeah.” Eva looked at her own nails. Unpainted, cut short, but very clean. Then she studied her hands, smooth and soft—without the calluses she’d have if she could find the courage to get back in the saddle. “We certainly can’t afford a new hand, especially now. But Dad just says yes to anyone who asks.”

“Your busy season’s coming up in a month or two. Maybe your dad’s thinking ahead.”

“Maybe,” Eva said, but she didn’t believe it. Her dad had a weakness for hard-luck cases and a habit of taking in ex-alcoholics, ex-cons and ex-rodeoers. Sometimes the ex-rodeoers worked out.

A bell sounded from the kitchen. Jane headed for the back with an “I’ll be right out with your meal.”

The moment Jane disappeared, the restaurant’s door opened. Eva reached down, snagged her book from her purse and randomly turned to a page as she tried to ignore the family. It wasn’t easy. They were the elephant in the room, and fact was much more entertaining than fiction.

The woman was loud and defensive. She kept prodding the little boy forward. “Hurry up, Timmy. Sit down, Timmy.” Once the kid was settled, she dropped her car keys on the table with a clatter. The man wore brand-new jeans, about two sizes too big, and a dark-blue T-shirt that stretched across his chest. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Well, from what Eva had overheard, no wonder. He slid a duffel bag under the table and put his left foot on it as if he were afraid it would escape. His gaze slid across the room, finding hers and locking in. His eyes were dark and brooding. The little boy looked in need of a bath and scared of both adults.

Embarrassed, Eva turned away. Her youngest sister, Emily, would see a story begging to be told. Eva just saw people struggling with problems they’d made for themselves and probably did nothing to change.

“Here ya go,” Jane said, putting a hot plate in front of Eva and snagging ketchup and maple syrup from her apron pocket. “Your toast will be out in a few minutes. Cook burnt it.”

“That’s okay. You’ve got some other customers.” Eva nodded at the newcomers.

“Oh, thanks. I didn’t hear them come in.” Jane took out her pad and headed over to stand between the man and boy.

The little boy was eating a cracker left on the table from a previous diner. His dirty, bare feet were tucked under him as if he knew that shoes were required.

“I’m hungry, haven’t eaten since last night,” the woman said, then loudly gave her order and the boy’s. Once the man made his selection and Jane walked away, the man leaned in to do the talking.

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me, didn’t put this in the letter,” the man said, obviously trying to keep his voice low.

Maybe Eva should just leave. When Jane came back, Eva’d ask for a to-go box, never mind the toast.

“Surprise for me, too,” the woman insisted. “This Matilda showed up at my house last Monday. She said she couldn’t take care of Timmy anymore. She showed me his birth certificate. Your name isn’t on it, but look at the kid. He’s you all over again.”

Eva peeked over her book. Same hair, same facial shape, same skin tone, same deer-in-the-headlights expression. Yup, they were related.

Just then Jane brought out salads for their table. The moment she finished, Eva would let her know she needed a to-go box. The woman dug right in. So did the boy. The man, however, bowed his head in prayer.

Something Eva had forgotten to do.

She’d been too busy being judgmental.

Chapter Two

It didn’t seem possible, but the longer Jesse stared at the boy, the more he believed it. He had a son.

He tried to think of a scripture where a surprise son or daughter appeared, but couldn’t. Joseph might have been surprised when Mary told him about the son she carried, but she’d not followed the pronouncement with “Guess what? He’s yours.”

“So, you met Matilda?” It was all he could think of to say.

“Interesting girl,” his mother said.

Jesse’d lived with Matilda Scott for three months, just after he’d aged out of the foster system. He’d managed to deal with the assigned group home for only three days. Matilda’s one-room apartment had been an oasis for the next few months. Then she’d disappeared overnight, leaving him with rent due and a vague fear that he’d just been used by a woman too much like his mother.

He’d steered clear of relationships ever since.

Easy enough, since he’d spent much of that time in prison.

“But then, I only talked with her for all of twenty minutes.” His mother shook her head, her expression half mad, half impressed. “She knocked on the door. Next thing I knew, she was in the house telling me that Timmy was your son and that she had dreams to pursue. She wanted me to keep Timmy until you got out of prison. She kept saying, ‘It’s just nine days.’ I told her no. I mean, come on. Couldn’t she see we were in a one-bedroom apartment? She went to use the restroom and crawled out the window and disappeared. Wonder what she would have done if I hadn’t been on the first floor? And, she left me with the kid! If I’d been sober, she wouldn’t have gotten away with it.”

Looking across the table at Timmy, he tried to decipher if the young boy showed any emotion at being abandoned. Not really. Then, Jesse looked at his mother and tried to see any hint of interest, grandparental pride, something.

Nothing.

“How’d Matilda find you?”

“Didn’t get around to asking,” Susan said. “And she didn’t bother telling.”

“Timmy,” Jesse said, “did you know Matilda, your mom, planned on dropping you off?”

The yellow crayon clutched between Timmy’s fingers was quickly becoming a nub. The little boy didn’t look from the gold-panning scene he was coloring.

“Do you know your mom’s phone number?” Jesse tried next.

“I’ve already asked him, at least twice a day. He hasn’t said a word. I don’t think he can talk. Anyway, she didn’t leave a phone number or previous address. Nothing except her car, some games and a bunch of clothes.” His mother picked up her fork and ate her food as if it had been a week since her last meal. She didn’t look at Timmy.

He’d felt that same parental disconnect during his childhood. Felt it now, at twenty-four years of age. He didn’t know the woman sitting across from him, felt no connection. When Jesse was very young, he hadn’t been allowed to call her “mother.” She’d passed him off as her younger brother because calling him her son might have discouraged boyfriends. The deception worked for a little while because she’d had him at fifteen. But as time passed, the drugs and hard living made her look even older than her actual age.

Matilda had dropped off their son and disappeared? Jesse had no history, nothing to go on. Where had they been living? Had Matilda tried to be a good mom? What had happened? He had all kinds of questions, but they were not ones he’d ask in front of the child. Already, though, he knew his mother was telling the truth. Matilda had abandoned Timmy the same way Matilda had abandoned Jesse. And the same way Jesse’s mother used to abandon him.

This wasn’t how he’d pictured his first day of freedom. Jesse wanted to come to town, meet his employer and join productive society: the working world. He needed time to figure out his future.

He’d need a lifetime to figure out what to do with Timmy.

“You need to eat,” his mother advised him. “I, for one, am starved.”

Any appetite Jesse might have had disappeared with the words “Meet your son.”

The waitress, way too happy, came over and refilled Jesse’s water glass. She scooted Timmy’s milk glass closer to him as if to hint “Drink this. It does a body good.” If she noticed something amiss, she didn’t let it show.

She walked away from them to chat with the blonde seated in the corner. When Jesse looked over, he noticed the woman was watching him, her expression guarded and somewhat disdainful. He got the feeling she knew not only where he came from and what he’d done but had already made up her mind that his future would be just as bleak. The look on her face was the same one the guard had given him before saying he’d see him soon. Yet for all that, she was a pretty thing, all long blond hair and Westerny: clean and soft.

Clean and soft weren’t the words most females wanted to hear, but to a man fresh out of prison, they were powerful. She looked like someone well taken care of.

Someone smart enough to stay away from him.

Her cheeks colored about the time Jesse looked away. He had other things to focus on, like a newly discovered son.

He took the first bite of his hamburger, washing it down with a swig of water, and asked, “Did Matilda say why she dropped Timmy off? Was she in some kind of trouble? I mean, did she say when she’d be back?”

His mother rolled her eyes. “She didn’t even say she was leaving before she climbed out the bathroom window without taking her kid.”

Timmy didn’t act like he knew they were talking about him.

“And, you’ve had him how long?” Jesse asked.

“Nine days now.”

Jesse figured in those nine days, his mother had done more talking at the kid than to the kid. That was her style. Looking at Timmy, she said, “His mother left a twenty, but that didn’t last long. I’ve had to buy lots of extra food, stuff I normally don’t buy. Things like spaghetti, peanut butter, jelly and Pop-Tarts. Nothing in the car worth selling. Believe me, I looked. And then there’s the gas for driving him here.”

He knew exactly what his mother was telling him and took a deep breath. She wanted to be reimbursed. But what money could she honestly expect from a man who’d been out of jail for only a few hours? He was living on faith, but had no clue how faith could help Matilda, his mother or Timmy. Part of him wanted to pray; part of him wanted to run out of the restaurant. Instead, hating himself for what he couldn’t provide, he said, “You’ve come to the wrong man. Right now, I can barely help myself.”

“Not sure you’ll have a choice.”

If not for the generosity of Mike Hamm, he wouldn’t even have the clothes on his back. The prison chaplain had provided him with the pants and shirt, not wanting him to leave prison in state-provided denim blues.

“I don’t have anything to give,” he told his mother.

She didn’t respond. Instead, resignation on her face, she glanced out the restaurant window, looking like she wished she was miles away. He knew she wasn’t wishing to be any place in particular—just anywhere but where she was.

The boy watched, not uttering a word, ignoring Jesse’s attempts to ask him about age, school status and favorite things to do. The yellow crayon broke, and now Timmy colored with a dark blue crayon.

“Got a job lined up?” his mother finally asked after checking her watch for a third time.

“Yes.”

Susan gave a shrug and took the last bite of her meal. “That’s more than I can manage. Soon, though, things will be better. I’ve met a guy, a nice guy, and we’re heading for New Mexico. Maybe this time it will last.”

Jesse had never figured out what the “it” his mother talked about was. When he was young, he’d thought it meant love. As a teenager, he’d thought it meant monetary support. Now, as an ex-con, he figured it meant companionship and money.

His mother didn’t really understand the concept of love, so that couldn’t be it.

“He’s not crazy about the kid, I’ll tell you that,” Susan continued. As if cued, her cell phone sounded a rendition of “Free Bird.” She picked it up and looked at the number. “Oh, it’s him.” She answered with a “Hey,” then stood and said to Jesse, “Let me take this where I can hear.”

She headed to the front of the restaurant and stopped at the door. Before exiting, she said, “He’ll be excited that you and I met up.”

Somehow Jesse doubted it. In all his years, not one of Susan’s boyfriends had been excited about meeting Jesse. And certainly, meeting Jesse—fresh out of prison—with Timmy as collateral damage was more than any significant other could take.

Jesse turned his attention back to his meal. The food was better than anything he’d had in the past few years and he intended to enjoy it while he could—and enjoy the momentary silence before his mother returned.

* * *

Working at the ranch, being in charge of guest relations, Eva’d seen dysfunctional families up close and personal. As a matter of fact, she’d called the police a time or two, and once drove a woman all the way to California when her husband decided to end their marriage in the middle of their vacation.

Not fun.

She wasn’t sure how the woman who’d just sashayed from the restaurant was connected to Timmy’s father. He’d never spoken to her by name. She dressed young, but her face bore the lines of hard living. She’d introduced the boy as “your son” and not “our son.”

The man, on the other hand, didn’t look as rough—in part because he clearly had God in his life. Again, Eva felt a nudge of guilt. Last Sunday morning’s sermon had been about being judgmental. Sitting beside her father on the pew, Eva knew this was a trait she struggled with. At the front desk of the ranch, she often decided on personalities of people before they’d finished check-in.

She judged which parents were too easy on their offspring. She judged which family would prove to be good tippers and which would leave their rooms an absolute mess. She was often right—but she’d been wrong a time or two.

Maybe she’d misjudged the man across the restaurant.

Eva glanced out the window and watched as the woman passed the bench by the front door, quickly lit up a cigarette, and then headed alongside the building.

The phone call must be really private for her to go out back where the Dumpsters were located. Except...she’d already put away her phone.

Stop it, Eva told herself. This is ridiculous. Go back to your book. She reread the last paragraph, but she’d forgotten the storyline.

Outside, the woman walked up to a man on a motorcycle.

Feeling slightly ridiculous, Eva glared at the doors to the kitchen. The bill...Eva really needed her bill. She was worried, actually worried about the two males left behind. And she didn’t even know them! If the restaurant hadn’t been so empty and the family—at least the woman—so noisy, Eva wouldn’t be so curious.

At least curiosity wasn’t a sin.

Not in moderation.

The rev of the motorcycle engine sounded right outside. Eva sighed and gave up pretending that she wasn’t watching. Peering through the window, Eva watched as the woman took one last puff from a cigarette before throwing it to the ground. She seemed agitated.

She also seemed to know the man on the motorcycle. Well enough that she climbed on the seat and wrapped her arms around his leather jacket. And then, off they went.

Eva hoped she hadn’t just witnessed someone getting dumped, especially not a someone who’d just heard the words “Meet your son.”

None of my business, Eva reminded herself.

But she knew the woman hadn’t said goodbye. And she knew what it was like to wait for someone who had no intention of returning.

She glanced back at the two guys left in the restaurant. The little boy, Timmy, picked at his food, eating with his fingers, and making a mess of his face. The man pushed an extra napkin in his direction, but Timmy ignored it, coloring more vigorously in between bites of food. Then his crayon rolled toward the edge of the table, and when he moved to grab it, he knocked over his water glass. Water covered the page he’d been coloring. Timmy froze.

Eva knew that response. The kid expected some kind of punishment.

“It’s okay,” the man said, gently. “We’ve got plenty of napkins.”

Just then, Jane showed up with more. Timmy was an unyielding mannequin. He looked like he was barely breathing. The man literally had to scoot the boy’s chair out of the way so Jane could clean the table.

Eva looked out the window again. The motorcycle and its two riders were long gone.

Jane brought Timmy a new coloring sheet. “You want dessert?” she asked.

“No, my mother stepped outside to take a call,” the man said. “As soon as she returns, we’ll pay the bill and take off.”

So the woman was his mother. But if he waited for her to come back, they’d be waiting a long time. Eva waved Jane over.

“You need to tell him,” Eva whispered, “that his mother just took off on a motorcycle with some guy.”

Jane took a step back. “You’re kidding. I don’t want to tell him.”

“We can’t leave them waiting.”

“You tell him,” Jane said, and before Eva could stop her, she’d motioned for him to join them.

Eva watched as he glanced at his mother’s keys, at Timmy and then at the front door before joining them.

Eva should have left a twenty on the table and hightailed it from the restaurant. Then she wouldn’t have been in this uncomfortable position. She looked out the window again, hoping the woman would magically appear. “You’re waiting for your friend to come back?”

“My mother,” the man admitted, then leaned forward, one strong hand braced on Eva’s table and the other pushing the curtain farther aside. “Did she fall or something?”

“Um,” Eva said, “I think she took off with some man on a motorcycle. I couldn’t see his face because he wore a helmet. They took off down the road, probably toward the interstate.”

“Oh, man, you’ve got to be kidding.” He’d had a stoic, too-serious expression from the time they’d entered the restaurant, but now she could clearly read shock all over his face.

Eva shook her head, not kidding.

He marched over to his table and ordered Timmy, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

The boy didn’t move. Hadn’t since he’d spilled his water. But once his father turned away from him, he started edging to the floor and under the table.

As Eva and Jane watched, the man stepped outside, looked to the right and left. Not much happening on this blistering August day. It was after the noon rush, and the parking lot was empty save for four cars, including the one Eva had watched him arrive in.

Then he came back inside. Timmy was completely under the table, thumb in mouth, beginning a curious humming sound. The man walked past him, straight for Eva. “Tell me what you saw,” he ordered.

“I saw her leaving.”

“Story of my life,” he muttered.

Chapter Three

He must have quite a story, but Eva didn’t want to know what happened in the next chapter. She liked her days to run smoothly. She’d spent her whole life, it seemed, trying to make sure the people around her were happy and that everything was in its place.

Sometimes she succeeded.

The past hour left her feeling worried and disgruntled. She exited the restaurant and climbed into the royal-blue Ford F-250 pickup decorated with the logo and phone number for the Lost Dutchman Ranch.

Driving out of Apache Creek township and into the rural area where the ranch waited, Eva remembered every detail from the restaurant. The man had obviously just had a son dropped in his lap by a mother who wasn’t much of a mother—or grandmother, apparently. Eva couldn’t even fathom the type of woman who’d sneak out of a restaurant leaving family behind not knowing.

She wondered how the man would get Timmy out from under the table. She had never been around reticent children. Her sisters had never been afraid to show their feelings.

She didn’t remember fear being part of her childhood—not fear of people, anyway. Fear of horses was a whole different story. The worst thing, the thing that made the Hubrecht clan dysfunctional, was her dad’s habit of thinking he always knew best, and that his word was law, to be followed without question. But he’d never made them feel like they should be afraid. He’d never raised a hand to them. His punishment was “You’re grounded. No television or horse privileges for a week.” And under all the bluster was a heart made of gold. Eva saw it even if her sisters didn’t.

But Timmy was afraid.

Eva could only wonder what would happen to the boy now that the man had been left in possession of his son. And she couldn’t quite shake the connection she’d felt with the man the first time his gaze had caught hers. There was something about him that made her want to get involved. But no, she’d held the enabler card before, and it never played well for her.

And this time, she hadn’t even gotten the name of the man who caused her such angst.

Pulling into the Lost Dutchman Ranch, she finally relaxed. She felt like she’d already put in a full day, though it was just past lunchtime. No way could she be a social worker like her sister Elise. Her small involvement with the people at the restaurant had totally drained her.

“We have nothing to complain about,” she announced to Patti de la Rosa, Jane’s mom, as she entered the lobby and headed for the front desk.

“I told you that a long time ago. Jane just called and told me all about what happened at the restaurant. Poor man. Jane says he’s still there trying to get his son to come out from under the table. I’m going to add him to the prayer list at church.”

Eva sat down behind the front desk and checked the answering machine and their website.

“You don’t want to do that,” Patti advised her. “It’ll just depress you.” As office assistant and head of housekeeping, Patti knew everything there was to know about the workings of the Lost Dutchman. “I already put up the cancellation specials. Not even ten minutes passed before a family called in, canceled their original reservation and hung up. Then, five minutes later, they called and re-reserved under the special price, this time using the husband’s name and card.”

Eva closed her eyes. When a block of rooms suddenly opened up, it was good policy to offer last-minute price breaks to potential guests who might be looking for spur-of-the-moment deals.

Today it hadn’t worked in the ranch’s favor.

“We did get two bookings for October,” Patti said helpfully.

October filled no matter what. Snowbirds flocked to Arizona for its perfect weather.

“I was really hoping for a good summer season,” Eva said. “I need to go find Dad and tell him we can’t afford this new hire. We can’t.” She checked the dining hall, the kitchen and her dad’s office. He wasn’t in their living areas. Standing on the back porch, she looked down the desert landscaping and toward the barn. That’s where he’d be.

She had a love/hate relationship with the barn. On one hand, she hated the way it made her feel: scared, trapped, inadequate. On the other, she came from a long line of horsemen and very much wanted to join their ranks.

She wanted to ride with her dad, her sisters, her someday children.

Go down there, she told herself. You’re a grown woman, strong, and you manage the Lost Dutchman. All of it.

Her feet obeyed, and one step at a time, she walked the half mile to the barn. She could have hopped on one of the ranch’s all terrain vehicles, but that would have gotten her there sooner. She’d face the barn when she got there, but she wasn’t exactly in a rush to make that happen.

She found her father in the saddle room, mending a hobble strap. Chris LeDoux played on the radio.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, Dad? Do we really need another hand?”

Jacob Hubrecht still had a full head of hair, light brown and brushed to the side. His eyebrows were bushy, his mouth wide. Age had given him wrinkles, very defined, but he still looked strong, and had certainly held on to all his stubbornness through the years. He didn’t pause in his task. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve got the good of the ranch in mind. Leave it be.”

Her two younger sisters had rebelled against his unyielding authority. Eva, however, usually understood where her father was coming from and agreed. Not this time, though.

She didn’t move, just stared at him.

“I’m not getting any younger,” he finally said. “It’s time to put some new, young, strong employees into place—” his hands, always so capable, formed into fists “—so that when I need to work less, I can know all is being cared for.”

He had to be talking about the horses because Eva could do everything else.

She wanted to do everything. Then he wouldn’t be hiring a hand they couldn’t afford.

Behind her, a horse snorted as if reading her mind and knowing she couldn’t possibly care for the mares and geldings like her father did.

“So, this new guy is permanent?”

“Probably not. Mike Hamm called and asked for a favor.”

Mike Hamm was the prison minister. Yes, this was an example of her father not being able to say no to another hard-luck case.

And deep down, she knew he was thinking, “I have three beautiful daughters, but I needed to have me a boy.”

Well, Eva could shoot as well as any boy. Her younger sister Elise could ride like a boy. And the baby of the family, Emily, was a master with a hammer and nails. Half the fences on the ranch were still standing because of Emily. As a matter of fact, Emily had helped Dad draw the plans for most of the Lost Dutchman’s lodgings.

Eva shifted nervously on her feet, all too aware of the two ailing horses in the barn who restlessly watched her. One had stepped on a muck rake and suffered a gash near her eye. Dad was keeping her under observation for a day or two. The other had a dislocated ankle. His future looked grim.

Eva was no help at all. The sight of blood made her woozy, and the thought of trying to help hold a horse while a vet or some of the hands examined it made her...yup, just as woozy.

She’d owned fifty plastic horses as a preteen. She’d had posters of horses on her wall. She’d read Black Beauty and all the Walter Farley books twenty times. Yet the real McCoy, an actual horse, scared her to death.

Daisy, the horse with the gash, snorted again.

Her dad continued. “I know he needs a job. I know he moved a lot and was in foster care. He needs a place to set down roots. Mike says he worked at horse camps during a few summers and remembers the time as the best in his life.”

Great, she was being replaced by a city slicker who only had to muck stalls for two and a half months a few summers.

“I don’t like this change—” Eva had more to say, but Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson’s “Mammas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” started playing. Her father pulled his cell from his back pocket and answered, “Hubrecht.”

As she walked away, she could hear him saying, “Yeah, I’ve been expecting your call.”

And wasn’t that typical. With a stranger, some shiftless criminal he’d never even met, her father was all expectation. But he had no expectations for her.

Just disappointment.

* * *

Jesse gathered up every crumb left over from lunch and loaded the food into a doggy bag. The monotonous task gave him time to think about what on earth he was going to do now that he had his son in his care.

He’d spent about twenty minutes on the waitress’s cell phone, calling his parole officer and Mike Hamm to update them on his situation. The parole officer gave him an emergency appointment for tomorrow. Mike Hamm’s voice mail promised only that Mike considered the call important and would return it as soon as possible.

Jesse knew no other people’s phone numbers, except for the man offering him a job. Taking the keys from the table, Jesse paid the check—twenty dollars gone. Then he tried to get Timmy out from under the table for the second time.

Timmy was happy under the table.

It took another thirty minutes and a dish of ice cream, but finally he hustled Timmy out the door and toward the old Chevy. At least his mother, or really Matilda, had left something substantial behind. Maybe he could sell it.

Good thing his mother hadn’t thought of that.

A quick search through the backseat showed that the suitcases and dirty laundry were all Timmy’s. The half-full boxes contained old games and toys. Not one item in the car belonged to Susan.

Timothy Leroy Scott’s birth certificate was in an envelope in the glove box. Matilda’s name was in the box labeled Mother, but no name was listed for Father. Jesse did the math. Timmy would be five and yes, he’d been with Matilda during the time she’d conceived Timmy.

He reminded himself to be glad his mother had gotten more organized. When she’d dumped Jesse with relatives, sometimes school wasn’t an option because he never arrived with a birth certificate.

Maybe that’s why he’d never finished high school—too far behind and too busy trying to survive.

“This car belong to your mother?” Jesse asked.

Timmy stared at the ground.

“What am I going to do with you?” Jesse asked.

Timmy didn’t move, not an inch.

“Has Matilda—has your mother—left you before?”

Finally a vague response, a slight shake of the head. At least, Jesse thought it was a shake. It could have been the kid simply needed to get his hair out of his eyes.

“Well, get in.”

Timmy started to climb in back, but Jesse said, “No, the front’s okay.”

The Chevy started on the third try. The radio refused to turn on. Come to find out, the air conditioner didn’t work. Jesse had no sooner pulled onto the street than the rearview mirror fell off.

“Great,” Jesse said, tossing it in the backseat with the rest of the junk.

The prison minister would be proud. Since leaving jail this morning, Jesse’d been maneuvering around unexpected roadblocks one right after another, and there’d been not a curse word uttered. His tongue was bleeding a little from where he’d bitten it too hard, but still...progress.

Timmy didn’t say anything, just looked from the space where the rearview mirror should have been to Jesse as if expecting to get blamed.

“It will be all right,” Jesse assured the boy. “My mother did the same thing to me many times, and believe me, many a day I felt as conflicted as you probably do right now.”

Timmy gave the barest of shrugs and concentrated on whatever he could see from the window. There wasn’t much. Apache Creek was one long street of businesses, most looking fairly deserted. There were homes to the north and the freeway and hotels to the south. East and west were desert and a smattering of homes.

The main color was brown.

Checking his watch, Jesse groaned. It was now almost two. He needed to call the man offering him a job.

A job.

Right. Could be that opportunity was a thing of the past, given his new circumstances. Jesse was supposed to be a single man intent on getting his life back together. Instead—for the next few days, anyway—he’d be a man who had no clue what to do, especially not with a kid.

And no money.

Maybe he could get on the internet and find some of those long-lost relatives who’d taken him in when Susan disappeared on some misguided quest for happiness.

No, the best had merely tolerated him.

The worst had...

No way could Jesse turn over to them a five-year-old who flinched after spilling a glass of water and who hid under tables.

He had to get this job.

The first convenience store didn’t have a pay phone. The second one didn’t either, but the girl behind the counter handed over her cell and said, “Go ahead, man. Just don’t leave the store.”

Jesse motioned Timmy toward the candy aisle. Good, something sparked the kid’s interest. Then, Jesse pulled out the folded, wrinkled paper from his back pocket. For the past week, he’d stared at the name penciled on the paper every day, thinking about opportunities and fresh starts.

And freedom.

He punched in the number and after just one ring heard, “Hubrecht.”

“Yes, hello, sir...” Jesse cleared his throat and started again because gravelly wasn’t the tone he was going for. “Yes, hello, my name is Jesse Campbell and—”

“Yeah, I’ve been expecting your call. Where are you?”

Glancing at the sign outside, Jesse said, “A Circle K next to a Burger King right on what looks to be the main street.”

“I’ll come get you.”

“I have a vehicle. I can meet you if that’s easier.”

“Good. There’s a restaurant just down the way, the Miner’s Lamp Café and—”

“I just ate lunch there.” No way did Jesse want to return. “Look, there’s a park across the street. I can see some picnic tables.”

“It will take me about twenty minutes,” Jacob said.

“Thank you.” Jesse handed the phone back to the girl, grabbed two bottled waters from the case, and then paid for them and a candy bar for Timmy.

Jesse noticed that Timmy waited until he thought Jesse wasn’t looking and put the candy bar in one of his pockets.

Jesse’d done that a time or two also, saving food for later in case mealtimes became sporadic or nonexistent.

“It will melt,” Jesse told him. Then he handed Timmy a dollar. “Go ahead and enjoy your candy bar. If you find you need another one later, you can buy one. Never steal.”

Never steal, never steal, never steal.

Timmy took the money and put it in the pocket with the candy bar, which he still made no move to eat.

Wherever Susan and Timmy had been, it must not have been Arizona in July. Well, based all on the things that had gone wrong today, a little melted chocolate would be the easiest to fix.

There were two boys already at the park, both older than Timmy. They didn’t really play on the equipment. They were more interested in chasing, pushing each other to the ground and roughhousing. Timmy didn’t even look at them. Instead, he sat in the sand, found an old plastic spoon and began digging.

Jesse watched him, wondering what on earth he was going to do with a kid. At this moment, he wasn’t sure if he even remembered how to take care of himself. One thing about prison—you were told what to do and when to do it, and knew the consequences if you got caught not complying.

Tomorrow Jesse needed to drive into Phoenix and meet his parole officer. Now that would be fun. Good old Child Protective Services would get involved, and one more government organization would be breathing down Jesse’s neck.

If they didn’t take Timmy away entirely. He already dreaded the thought of each and every hoop he’d need to jump through.

July in Arizona was unrelenting. The heat pressed down, and Jesse felt sweat trickling over his shoulder blades. Timmy didn’t seem to notice or care. The plastic spoon broke. Timmy left it where it was and dug with his hands instead. He looked like he was on a mission.

Maybe he wanted to escape.

Jesse could sympathize with the sentiment, but after five years of confinement, Jesse found that finally being in a wide-open space was so overwhelming, he couldn’t breathe.

Everything he’d dreamed for the past few months was shattering around him. He’d left prison with a set of goals cemented in his mind, and already those goals were being either erased or challenged.

He wasn’t sure he was strong enough to make new ones or even battle for the old ones.

No, he couldn’t think that way. He’d come too far.

But, really, Jesse couldn’t think of a worse day to gain a son, especially a son who didn’t talk.

“You thirsty?” Jesse asked.

Timmy ignored him.

Jesse thought back to the past three months. He’d kept waiting for someone to say, “There’s been a mistake. You won’t be paroled.” When he’d asked Mike Hamm for a scripture, Mike had turned to Joshua: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

Amazing how a few words from God could help.

Amazing how they’d helped more during incarceration than now.

The street remained empty. Everyone was at work or at home in the air conditioning. Even the little boys who were wrestling had reached their limit and were trudging across the parking lot.

He thought about the woman from the restaurant, the one who’d watched the latest chapter in his life unfold, and wondered what kind of life she had. She didn’t seem the kind who needed a hand up. No, she’d been driving a huge truck. And her build had been strong, sturdy—not frail and wispy like Matilda or Susan.

She was probably heading to some nice, comfortable home, where family waited and the biggest conflict was whether the television was turned to a do-it-yourself show or a Hallmark movie. Jesse could barely even picture what that sort of life would be like.

A dark blue truck pulled into the dirt lot by the park. This town was hopping with trucks—his little Chevy definitely said “tourist.” Jesse started to stand, hoping it was Jacob, but then the two little boys, who’d been all the way to the street turned and ran to the pickup.

Sitting back down, Jesse watched as they attacked the man, who looked a little old to be their father, grabbing him around the legs as he stepped down from his truck and yelling, “Howdy, Mr. Jacob!”

Jesse again stood.

The man wore jeans, a tucked-in, long-sleeve shirt and an old brown hat. He reached in his pocket and pulled out two pieces of what had to be candy as he asked, “How’s your mother?”

“Sleeping. She told us to get out of the house cuz we kept waking her up.”

Jacob said, “I’ll see about having you come out to the ranch one day next week. You can do some riding and help out a bit.”

“Yeah!”

The two boys ran off, possibly to tell their mother, possibly to keep Jacob from changing his mind.

Grabbing a folder from somewhere on the front seat, Jacob closed his truck’s door and ambled over to where Jesse waited.

“Park’s a mighty strange place for a meeting. The restaurant would have been nicer, cooler. We could have had tea.” He stuck out his hand.

Jesse awkwardly took it. Handshaking wasn’t something he’d done much of lately. “Yes, well, we’d already eaten and—”

Jacob looked at Timmy and then back at Jesse. “You never said anything about a kid.”

“This is my son. When my mother picked me up this morning, she introduced me to him. Before then, I didn’t know he existed, and...” Jesse’s voice trailed off as he tried to think of the best way to phrase the rest of it.

“And?” Jacob prompted him. He wasn’t exactly frowning. He had more of a here-we-go-again look on his face.

“When she dropped me off at the restaurant, she left Timmy.”

One of Jacob’s eyebrows raised. “For good?”

“Apparently.”

“Are you saying that the single ranch hand I hired really isn’t single?” Jacob started shaking his head. “The position’s not meant for a family man.”

Jesse swallowed, and thought back to the Bible verse: Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

In a voice stronger than he felt, Jesse said, “Sir, it looks like I’m a family man for a while, but that won’t keep me from doing exactly what you expect me to do. I’m a hard worker. Timmy doesn’t take up much room, he’s quiet, and we’d both appreciate a chance. I promise you there’ll be no problems.”

Jacob still shook his head and stood. “Your quarters would be a room, one room, in the sleeping quarters with the other two hands. That’s no place for a kid.”

“It’s better than the car where we’ll be sleeping tonight. It’s better than a shelter in town amidst a bunch of strangers.”

Jacob didn’t even blink. “I wish I had better news for you, son, but taking on the two of you is more than I’m prepared to do. I had misgivings about taking on just you.”

He started for his truck, interview over. Jesse tried to think of something that would change the man’s mind. Minutes ago, Jacob had offered a day of play and work to two little boys with a sick mother. That was the kind of boss Jesse needed in his life right now.

And Timmy probably needed it even more.

“Sir.”

Jacob didn’t turn around.

“Sir, I’ll work for free the first week. You need to provide only a place for us to sleep and food.”

Jacob opened the truck’s door.

Before he could climb in, Jesse said a word he hadn’t said in a long time. Not when they’d sentenced him, not when he’d faced his first adversary while incarcerated and not when he prayed.

“Please.”

Chapter Four

It took Eva almost two hours to cancel all the details tied in with the wedding reservations. Next she handled one complaint—it was clear that the guest wanted to be upgraded to a suite rather than a single room without paying the extra cost. Eva hated giving in to such blatant manipulation, but fighting the point wouldn’t accomplish anything. The ranch was nearly empty; Eva sent Mitch, one of the summer wranglers, to help with the move.

“And change into your uniform top,” she said. Mitch too often wore casual T-shirts, ones that advertised not the ranch but either beer or taverns. Today’s flaunted a place called Rex’s Bar and Grill.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, without any respect in his tone. This was his second summer, and she hoped it was his last. He had a habit of disappearing when they needed him. Worse, some of the guests coming back from a trail ride complained that he didn’t talk and was cold and unwelcoming.

She couldn’t write him up for not talking, but it didn’t make him her favorite hand.

Leaving Patti behind the desk, Eva peeked out the big picture window. Her father’s truck wasn’t in the main lot. Maybe he was down at the corral with the new hire. A real horse person would rather meet the horses than the owner’s daughter. Right?

“You might as well call your father. We’re both curious. Let’s see how things are going,” Patti suggested. “It’s been over two hours since you checked up on him.”

Patti never thought twice about calling Eva’s father to ask questions, get advice and report. Eva never did, preferring to convince him that she could handle any problem herself.

Eva studied the expanse of desert and mountain scenery. Her home, and she loved every inch. “I think I’ll go down and check things out again. We have the vet scheduled for today.”

Patti raised one eyebrow; Eva rarely went near the horses. “I’m impressed. Twice in one day. If the horses faint, let me know.”

Eva stuck out her tongue before exiting the main house, grabbing a helmet from the ATV’s rear cargo box and hopping on. As she drove the half mile to the barn, she started second-guessing herself. The earlier visit hadn’t been bad. But would she be able to handle this second visit?

To distract herself from her fears, she focused her mind on her other problem—namely, the ranch’s business problems. Her father wanted the place to be a ranch first, and a resort as a distant second. Eva wanted to convince him to turn those priorities around.

In truth, the lodging part of the Lost Dutchman was less of a headache than the ranch part, the guests’ interactions with the horses. In the past five years, once a guest had tripped on the tennis court, resulting in a sprained ankle. On the other hand, they’d had a dozen broken bones and at least one lost tooth thanks to riders leaving the horses’ saddles before the planned dismount.

They needed to shore up the side of their business that made money with no liability. She wished her dad realized that. But, that was her dad, tunnel-vision. She couldn’t get through to him that they needed to modernize the Lost Dutchman. Their business would triple if he’d agree to put in a water slide and a lazy river, plus a separate pool just for adults—but no, for the past twenty years horseback riding had been the main draw, and he was convinced nothing else was needed. He’d only reluctantly conceded to include guided hikes, biking and tennis.

And this new hire, this project of Mike Hamm and her father, would undoubtedly be a horse person; summers on a ranch did that to boys. He’d just be one more voice shouting her down when she said they should have more to offer that didn’t include horses.

Her red shirt clung like wet glue to her back as she parked the ATV and walked to the barn. To the left, a wrangler hired just two months ago conducted an intermediate riding lesson. Without having to count, Eva knew that half a dozen children ages seven to nine were involved. They were the only age willing to ride horses in this heat. Their younger siblings were in the craft house. Their older siblings were probably either in the game room or at the pool.

They’d definitely all be in the pool if only her father listened to her.

By the time she entered the barn, she was too relieved to get out of the sun to mind being surrounded by horses. She spotted Harold, their foreman and head wrangler, in Palomino Pete’s stall. Pete was a quarter horse that had been in the family for decades. Eva had first sat on Pete’s back when she was six. She’d last sat on his back when she was eight—the last time she’d ridden at all.

A family of wild turkeys had managed to get in the arena while she was riding. Maybe Pete had never seen turkeys before. Maybe Eva had gotten excited and accidentally kicked him. Or maybe he’d just stumbled at the wrong time, while she was too distracted to hold on.

No matter the cause, the result was that Eva had flown from his back and landed on her head on a rock. Thirteen stitches and one minor concussion later, her father had said no to her getting on Pete’s back again.

She’d wanted to, or so Harold said.

But Jacob Hubrecht expected people to listen when he gave orders. Especially then, when Eva’s mother had been just six months dead and nothing felt like it should have at the Lost Dutchman.

Right now, nearing retirement, Pete never went on the trail rides. He was used only for the smallest of children who wanted a safe, brief ride. In all the years they’d had him, Eva was the only rider ever to fall off.

“Everything all right?” Eva asked, not venturing past the entrance to the stall. “You hear from Dad?”

“I expect your dad any minute, and Pete’s got a slight crack on his left front hoof,” Harold said. “Probably be okay by the time tourist season begins.”

They needed tourist season to start tomorrow! Thanks to the economic downturn, the Lost Dutchman Ranch couldn’t remember what feast was and too often felt the tightening belt of famine.

The Lost Dutchman would make it, though. Everyone wanted to be a cowboy for a day, week, month. Eva, who’d majored in marketing, knew how to promote the ranch. If only she could get her father to listen to her ideas.

And stop hiring unsuitable people when they could hardly afford the staff they already had.

“I really don’t like this change,” Eva muttered.

Leaving Harold to his job, Eva went back to the ATV and returned to the main house. Maybe the new hire hadn’t shown up, and all the paperwork, phone calls and arranging for a bed had been a wasted effort on her dad’s part.

If only she could believe that.

She parked in front of the steps leading up to the two-story adobe building that had started life as a one-room cabin. Only one wall remained of that original structure. Her dad had installed a pane of glass over it, and added a plaque that shared the history of the structure.

Her dad’s truck still was nowhere around.

The current Lost Dutchman ranch house was pretty much the same color as the desert surrounding it and boasted a combination of Santa Fe style and Old West relic decor. The front porch jutted out and had what looked like tree trunks holding it up. A replica of a Conestoga wagon was to the left of the porch; a modern playground was to the right.

Stepping from her quad, she noticed that the blue jungle gym needed a fresh coat of paint. One of the rocking chairs on the porch had a rattan backing that should have been replaced. Only the cacti did their job without complaint. They looked hot and dry.

Like Eva felt.

She stepped into the lobby and pulled her shirt away from her body. The sweat dripping down her back instantly chilled thanks to the air conditioning. Patti turned the thermostat down to seventy-two every time she was left alone. It didn’t matter how many times Eva cautioned her about the electricity bill.

“You heard from Dad?” Eva asked, moving back behind the desk to check reservations. No change in the last thirty minutes.

“No. He’s been gone longer than I expected.” Usually Patti had a sixth sense about Eva’s father.

“What do you think?”

“I think he went into town, looking like he was on a mission, and he’ll be back soon.” Patti didn’t say anything Eva didn’t already know. The difference was, Patti wasn’t curious.

“I’m back.” Her dad’s rich baritone voice came from the doorway.

Eva looked up just as he stepped aside to let the new hire in.

“I thought we’d come here first,” Dad said. “We can show the little one the playground and game room.”

The little one had a name, and Eva knew it.

Timmy.

She didn’t know the big one’s name. She knew only that he came with more problems than their little ranch could afford.

* * *

“Don’t touch,” Jesse warned as Timmy finally showed an interest in something and headed toward a large glass pane that showcased a dirt wall. Before Jesse could stop the little boy, he’d touched the wall and then fingered a woven wall hanging.

“That’s okay,” Jacob said. “Glass cleans, and that wall hanging is so dusty, it makes me sneeze.”

Jesse didn’t miss Eva’s glare.

Jacob was oblivious. “This is my daughter Eva. She’ll get you started on the paperwork.”

“That wall hanging is more than a hundred years old,” Eva muttered.

While Jacob bent down next to Timmy and explained that the wall hanging had been handmade by his wife’s grandmother, Jesse stared at the blonde from the restaurant.

He should have seen the resemblance.

She was her father’s daughter, all right. Jacob was a good two inches over six feet; Eva was close to that, maybe just under six foot, equal in height with Jesse. Her blond hair was as full and rich as her father’s, though Jacob’s hair was light brown. And unlike Jacob, Eva had dark brown eyes. They reminded Jesse of a stone he’d kept in his pocket when he was about Timmy’s age. He couldn’t remember the name, but he’d loved it for the color and texture.

Eva looked at her father as if he’d lost his mind. Jesse half expected her to refuse to help him. Instead, she took a breath, looked to him as if she silently counted to ten, and brought out some documents. “I put this packet together last Friday. But I’ll need to add a couple more. We didn’t know you were coming with...”

“A son,” Jesse filled in for her.

She nodded. “Dad, you’re not going to put them in bunkhouse. I don’t think Mitch and the other wrangler would appreciate it.”

Jacob straightened, saying, “Do we have an empty cabin?”

“Noooo,” Eva said, aghast.

“Yes.” There was another woman in the room, one Jesse’d almost missed. She, too, was tall, but unlike the Hubrechts he’d already met, she had red hair. Right now she was giving Eva a bewildered stare. She’d been watching the exchange between the three with keen interest.

“The Baker wedding party canceled, Dad,” Eva explained.

He whistled. “That will cost us a pretty penny. What happened?”

The redhead answered, “The bride reunited with her ex-boyfriend when he came home from Afghanistan.” To Jesse, she said, “I’m Patti de la Rosa, I help run the place.”

Eva interjected, “I already put all the cabins up on the website as a special.”

“We don’t need a cabin.” Jesse just wanted out of this room and this debate so he could be alone—or at least, as alone as he could be with a five-year-old. “The bunkhouse you told me about is fine.”

Eva raised an eyebrow.

“He can use the guest apartment,” Jacob decided.

“That’s for family,” Eva said.

“The family hasn’t used it in a good long time. It’s just sitting there, wasted space.”

Eva looked aghast. “But what if Elise decides to come home and—”

“She won’t.”

Something in Jacob’s tone made Jesse believe him. Whoever Elise was.

“A single room is fine,” he insisted.

“No, Dad’s right. You’ll need a bathroom.” For all her indignation and huffiness, there was something about her expression as she looked at Timmy. Jesse saw then something he’d missed earlier when dealing with her: a hint of compassion. Not for him, but for Timmy, whose yellow T-shirt was torn and threadbare, who had stick arms poking from the sleeves, and who sported the kind of grime that came not from one afternoon spent in the dirt, but many. The kid’s ears were almost black.

The kid?

His kid.

“We’ll appreciate anything you can do for us tonight,” Jesse said.

Timmy wasn’t paying attention. It was almost as if when Eva started talking, he stopped listening.

“Come on, then,” Jacob said. “I’ll take you to the guest apartment. It’s not been cleaned or aired out in a while.”

“I know how to clean and open windows.” Jesse fell in step behind Jacob. Glancing back, he felt relieved to see Timmy coming along, too—although clearly “speed” wasn’t a word in the boy’s vocabulary.

“This is the Lost Dutchman Ranch,” Jacob said, as if Jesse didn’t know. “I purchased her more than thirty years ago. I was just off the rodeo circuit, settling down, thinking of starting a family. She started life as a one-room cabin. You saw one of the original walls in there. I left it and put it behind glass.”

If this was the desert, Jesse thought, it was the oasis of deserts. There were plenty of green plants and cacti. Every few yards, there was a swing with a canopy. An empty tennis court was to his left, and what looked like a one-room schoolhouse was to his right.

“Man I bought her from had built two more rooms, but neither was up to code.”

Jesse wasn’t sure what that meant.

“I added electricity, running water and furniture. A few years later, when my wife got pregnant with Eva, she insisted on a bigger house. I built her this when she had my third daughter, Emily.”

“Is your wife the redheaded woman back at the main house?”

“Patti?” Jacob’s laugh sounded more like a bark. “Patti de la Rosa works for me. She helps Eva run the business side of things. She’s been a blessing since my wife died. More than once her advice on how to raise my three daughters kept me from falling on my face.”

“No sons?”

“No, but my daughters can do just about anything that sons could do. Eva’s the only one who stuck around, though. She was just a little thing when I started expanding the main house. I’ve got pictures of her mixing mud mortar. She thought she was making pancakes, I’m pretty sure.”

“You built the main house?”

“Designed it, built it, maintain it.”

Before Jacob could say anything else, they arrived at the barn.

“I’ll introduce you to Harold Mull. He’s the head wrangler and foreman. When I’m not telling you what to do, he’ll be telling you. The vet’s here, too.”

Timmy had been keeping up, but now that they’d reached the barn, he hesitated.

“Come on,” Jesse urged him. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

“Ever seen a horse before?” Jacob asked.

Timmy shook his head.

“Well,” said Jacob, “they’re my favorite animal in the whole world. Next to dogs, of course.”

Timmy nodded as if he agreed.

Next thing Jesse knew, Jacob had both of them in the barn, standing next to a stall, as the vet took care of a horse named Harry Potter.

“My youngest daughter named quite a few of the horses,” Jacob explained. “She always had her head in a book. Consequently, we’ve got some very literary horses.”

An hour later, after introducing Timmy and Jesse to more horses and to the two wranglers, Jacob led them to a set of stairs in the back of the barn. The top of the stairs had a storage alcove on one side and the apartment on the other.

“We call this the loft and don’t lock the door. You can if you want. I’ll need to find the key.”

The front door opened to a living room with an ugly green couch, a mud-brown easy chair, a scratched coffee table and an old-fashioned television. Timmy, uninterested in the tour, immediately settled onto the couch. The kitchen was behind it. A door to the right led to a bathroom and bedroom big enough for only a bed, no dresser.

After showing Jesse around, Jacob cleared his throat and said, “You can start in the morning. Four o’clock. Harold will tell you what to do. Meantime, dinner is from five to six here.”

The door slammed behind him, and for the first time that day, Jesse had silence.

He didn’t trust it.

“Well,” Jesse said. “Let’s go bring the car down and unload our belongings.”

Timmy’s belongings, really. Jesse had a duffel bag.

No answer.

Timmy was curled into a fetal position on the couch, sound asleep. Jesse headed for the door, put his hand on the doorknob and stopped. Could he leave? Could he leave a five-year-old alone? What if Timmy woke up and got scared? Worse, what if Timmy woke up and wandered downstairs and out the barn door?

Five minutes later, Jesse carried the boy, who maybe weighed thirty-five pounds, all the way back to the main house. Eva stepped out on the porch.

Unlike most women, she didn’t holler, “Everything okay?”

Instead, just like at the restaurant, she watched him. Her expression indicated that she already knew what he was doing, plus all the things he didn’t know, and why and exactly how it would turn out.

He sat Timmy in the backseat—right where he first met the boy—and drove to the barn, parking by a blue truck, which must be the trademark for the ranch. Then he gently eased Timmy from the car and carried him upstairs and to the couch. Before he went back downstairs to unload the car, he snagged a blanket from the bed and covered the boy.

His son.

It took only ten minutes to unload the car and put their belongings away. Timmy’s clothes went in the bedroom closet, which actually had drawers. His games stayed in the living room under the coffee table. Then Jesse meticulously went through every crevice of the car. He found the owner’s manual but no title or registration receipt. He found a jack but no spare tire. After circling the vehicle, he realized the spare tire was already on the front passenger side. The only paper in the glove box—aside from receipts and other trash—had been the birth certificate. There was no other information on Timmy.

He had no clue if his son had been to preschool, the doctor or church. He was starting from scratch, both as an ex-con and as a father. A slight breeze pushed against him as he entered the barn and headed for the stairs up to his apartment. Instead of hundreds of convicts, he smelled horse.

He wasn’t sure which smelled worse.

Entering his apartment, all he could think of was that for the first time in more than five years, he had nothing to do, nowhere to be and no one to avoid. Instead, he had someone besides himself to take care of.

Walking to the window, he stared out at sweet freedom. It existed. He put his fingers on the glass, probably not bullet-proof, and then felt along the frame, finally getting his fingers just under the edge. It opened, and he breathed in the fresh air—hot, tinged with the scent of animals and roiling heat...and yes, something sweet.

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